Success comes to those who persevere with a determination born of earlier failures. A year ago my visit to Stourhead though well-planned was poorly executed. This year I am here once more. This time I visited the house and walked the beautiful gardens. But it has not been a smooth journey and history threatened to repeat itself.
After breakfast at Gillingham, I arrived by bus to the small town of Mere at ten. The weather was good and the prospect of a good walk was tempting. This is not easily resisted just after a lazy weekend in London. It was not long before I took in the splendid views from Long Hill, Castle Hill, White Sheet Hill and Long Knoll. From Long Knoll, the scene was bathed in a slanting sun through a still mist. It was almost an artwork of whitening greys stretching to the far horizon.
In this walk there was too a bit of fun. From an enclosure of young bulls, two bold and venturing ones climbed over a low broken fence. This generated considerable interest in the herd and caught the attention of a farmhand. Meanwhile I had to change my route to avoid the two loose bulls. The grass is green and lovely. The hills are lovely. There is comfort and safety. Yet freedom is something everyone wants.
At Long Knoll, it was already 2 pm and Alfred’s Tower looked an impossible distance. One must get priorities right. So I sacrificed this folly tower and headed for Stourhead. The house had much to interest, yet little. It was overwhelming. It was difficult to fix the attention. There were too many paintings. The Saloon had lost its original Palladian proportions and was too crowded with furniture. The Pope’s Cabinet here was too elaborate. It has too many colours, no uniformity and no mood. It occupied too much space with little function. The Chippendale furniture were the only admirable items in the house. The views of the garden from different parts of the house were splendid. This house is no longer a comfortable living space. If anything, it exists simply to enjoy the garden.
It is now time to describe the wonders of this earthly paradise. The first taste was obtained from the library with the fountain in the foreground, steps leading up to Mercury who looked towards the Obelisk in the distance. Who has seen paradise? What is paradise? The evolution of the notion of paradise from antiquity to the present has reached its culmination in Stourhead. Here we find a cultured representation of all that paradise can be. A garden of classical temples set within wooded landscapes is the sort of earthly paradise painters have idealised. At Stourhead this had been transformed to a physical reality.
The sweeping vistas, the balanced views and the breathtaking perspectives are all to be found. The Temple of Apollo is often seen from different parts of the garden. The reflections in the lake add to the effects. The woods give temporary glimpses of the monuments. The grotto is a world apart and offers the best view of the lake and the Temple of Apollo. The Pantheon hides for long before surprising the visitor almost unexpectedly. The Palladian Bridge of five arches is an important element that balances perfectly the Pantheon in the distance. The greatest aspect that adds much to the beauty of the landscape is the well-thought arrangement of plants and trees, many of which are now mature and clothe the hillsides in their various autumnal shades. Without trees, the views would be too open like those of Stowe, though the latter has its own highlights. The paths are many. Some are along the lake. Some climb to higher slopes. At each step there is always something interesting to see and admire. In this aspect it is similar to Bath’s Prior Park Landscape Gardens.
To learn more I purchased a guidebook of the garden. The cashier at the till thanked me five times in a span of less than a minute. The British are over-polite and over-courteous. It almost irritates me. I even wonder if it is sincere enough. If this is what they give they’ll surely expect the same in return. It is not in my habit to imitate even out of necessity. There remains a greater risk of being labelled as ungrateful and uncultured.
Finally, without having fully satisfied my appetite for the gardens I left towards Mere. The sun was setting at Stourhead while the moon rose above White Sheet Hill. I reached the bus stop at Mere at 18.38. The last bus scheduled to depart at 18.40 had already left. This was no time to be furious. It was time to drink a mouthful of water and start a 8 km walk to Gillingham. A short walk across a farmland made it clear that it was going to be impossible to find my way by moonlight and a weak torchlight. So I opted for a longer route by country roads with light traffic. Thus I ended up walking along cycle route 25 for the third time. Last year I had walked it at mid-day and early morning. Today it was done in darkness.
Return journeys, especially those late at night, are always difficult with long waiting times. This is made worse by half-drunken youths uttering obscenities with rude gestures. Racist comments are common too as what I heard today of me: “He’s not white; one of those fuckers from another country”. Thus, this has been another day that’s a reflection of life, an experience of good and bad, fun and adventure, leisure and hurry, the beautiful and the ugly.
